A Brandy and Mr Whiskers Christmas Carol
by McGeesJabberwock
Summary: On her second Christmas in the Amazon, Brandy is having doubts about having Santa return her home. Things get worse when she finds herself as Scrooge in a nightmarish version of Dicken's holiday tale.
1. Stave 1: Goldie Harrington's Ghost

**Rated M for gory occurences.**

This is a sequel of sorts to the episode 'On Whiskers, On Lola, On Cheryl, On Meryl', and a parody of the Dickens novella, A Christmas Carol. It's nowhere near as eerie or disturbing as Richard Williams' 1971 animated version of the story, but it's still somewhat weird. Oh yeah, and I've included a couple of 'homeages' to the Muppets version and the Mister Magoo version; you'll spot them if you've watched those specials.

* * *

**A Brandy and Mr Whiskers Christmas Carol**

**Stave 1:**

**Goldie Harrington's Ghost**

Brandy knew very well it was Christmas Eve, but had a hard time believing it. Not only because it had come, but how long it took to come. Back when she had seen Santa's sleigh ascend into the sky, back to the North Pole, leaving her in the Amazon, not to return for a year, she would have thought the three hundred and sixty five days following that event would have plodded along slowly. However, it had all been so quick. It seemed like only yesterday Whiskers wanted to ride the big rides at the water park. It seemed like only yesterday she wanted to sing karaoke. It seemed like only yesterday she discovered the mall. Hell, it even seemed like yesterday she first came here.

But now it was Christmas Eve and the hands of the clock took longer to turn. It was natural for most people to see Christmas Eve as the slowest day of the year, but Brandy was not slowed down by excitement, but by a question:

What will Santa do?

Surely she had been good the following year. Surely she had been knocked off the number one spot in the naughty list. Santa would bring her back home gladly.

But why would she want to go back? It wasn't really her home now, was it? And they lied to her! She was one eighth bloodhound for Pete's sake!

But what of the pampering? What of the jacuzzis, what of the ballrooms, what of the silver, what of the prestige? She should forget the adoption, be a Harrington. Brandy Harrington of the Florida Harringtons. It slipped off her tongue. She belonged there, not some barren jungle full of uncivilised naked creatures. Hah!

Her friends. What would they think, were she to return to her mansion and leave them. Lola would most likely be upset, as would the toucans. Even Gaspar, the tyrannical, evil guy, had affections for her. And Whiskers, poor innocent little Whiskers, would he approve? He has Ed to play with, doesn't he? He always said he wanted what was best for Brandy, he'd let her be reunited with her loving family, awaiting her with warm, waiting arms, saying 'Where were you, we missed you,' bringing forth presents and treats for her happy return? Whiskers would understand, wouldn't he?

Wouldn't he?

Oh look, here comes Whiskers now.

Mr Whiskers was an eight year old child and it was Christmas Eve, yet he actually remained calm and ordered, which actually made Brandy think of him, and how he'd cope without her, more.

"Brandy," he said, scratching his back with his left arm, "um... since, maybe, you won't be here tomorrow..."

"Whiskers," Brandy took a large gulp, "Don't worry, I'll make sure that Santa brngs you...home with me. Perhaps..." She fidgeted. "Perhaps my family will like you..."

Whiskers just stood there. He didn't cry, he gave no response over than: "I, I, I want to give you this."

A present, with large leaves used for wrapping paper. Brandy felt the package for a while before opening it; it was obviously a book, but not a very big one, probably around seventy pages or so. He said he got it during that Rainfo incident, from that non-contrived crate of books he found, it had Christmas on the cover so he thought it would be a good present. He didn't mnd that she didn't get him a present, he said. All he wanted for Christmas was to spend some time with his 'bestest best friend'. How corny. She opened it.

A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.

She swore she had heard that name before, perhaps off TV or something. She was oblivious to the story's major details, but she knew it was well-known or something to that extent. Anyway. She decided to read the book right then and there, to escape into the universe the words suggested and not to dwell on the thoughts swirling around her head.

"_'Marley was dead: to begin with'_? I don't really think that's an appropriate opening for a story about Christmas."

She noticed Whiskers shuddering a little, before urging her to go on. Ah, to escape your problems by reading. The story continued as it meant to go on, basically saying that Marley was dead in more detail and bringing a character named Scrooge into the mix. All fine and dandy. However, when her eyes were fixed upon a certain paragraph, she spent a few minutes in disturbed silence:

_'Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose, shrivelled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his thin lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. A frosty rime was on his head, and on his eyebrows, and his wiry chin. He carried his own low temperature always about with him; he iced his office in the dog-days; and didn't thaw it one degree at Christmas.'_

That was when the book started to speak.

Oh, don't be silly, Brandy. It's just fiction. Nothing here will affect you.

The book was alive. It could _see_ Brandy, it could _hear_ Brandy, it knew every single detail about Brandy's life, especially of that before her coming to the Amazon...

* * *

"Deck the halls with boughs of holly,  
Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la,  
This the season to be joll-"

"Um, you expect to paid for singing that bad? As if!"

* * *

"What's wrong, Brandy?"

She turned the pages slowly, fixing her eyes carefully on each one for minutes, her mind lost completely. Her eyes had began to bulge widely in their sockets by the time she had finished Chapter One. It was a short novella, but the slooooow way she read it almost made it look like War and Peace. She was actually did abhor the fact she was reading this thing, yet was absolutely fascinated with the occurences depicted. The further she read, the louder she could the hear the voices pounding in her mnd, speaking to her and only her, mocking and gloating at her as if she were nothing more than an insignificant little spore. However, when she reached the fourth chapter, or stave as the book called it, she just buried her head in her hands.

"Didn't you like it, Brandy?"

Not like it? The entire book was a mockery. She was a bad little girl just because she was rich and this book was trying to make her feel guilty about it. Yes, Brandy, be on your best behaviour! Be a good little girl or Santa won't bring you any Christmas pressies! Yes, that's it! That's why she was slapped here in the Amazon here in the first place! She was naughty and this was her corner to stand in! They threw some annoying brat at her for extra measure!

No, she couldn't think of Whiskers that way...

But she could! This was the idiot that sent her here! This is the person who constantly annoys her as if she were a babysitter! What did he ever do for her? All he did was take her for granted, expecting her to save him or for her to fetch him a new pair of underwear. And it was him, him who gave her this book, this monstrous beast that vowed to never give her a moment's peace.

He didn't want her to go back to her family. Whenever she had the chance to rush back to the warm, outstretched arms of her loving family, he would step in and scream for attention, and thus, her chances to go home would be gone forever.

Why didn't she notice all this until now?

"Whiskers," she said, "Why did you give me this book?"

"Well, I thought-"

"Why am I here?"

"That's quite an interesting philosophical question. Why are we here? What purpose-"

"That's not what I meant. Why am I in the Amazon?"

"Oh, come on, Brandy, you're still not sore about that, are you? It was all an accident! How was I supposed to know that lever wasn't a lightswitch? Anyway, Brandy, you shouldn't be so grumpy! It's Christmas!"

"Christmas?" Brandy lifted her head and stared right at the rabbit before her.

Yes. Christmas. She no longer saw all the fun and festivity she once saw in that holiday. It was another weapon the dastardly book was using to its advantage. Everyone else gets presents on Christmas, but mean ol' Brandy gets coal! Millions of people, jolly just for the sake of it. Christmas cheer? Christmas. A day for paying bills without money. When you got a year older but never an hour richer. It was all so clear now...

"Bra-"

Her voice was low and somewhat hoarse, a snarl you would expect from her species. "Every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart."

Brandy didn't shout that sentence. She didn't raise her voice or flail her arms, but Whiskers could easily tell she had the same contempt for him as she did when they first met. The fact that the reason was unknown to him, or even Brandy for that matter, made it all the worse.

He left. He just left.

Not even a bye.

* * *

"Oh, hey there, Mr Whiskers, what can I do for you this fine evening?"

"Ed, Brandy's mad at me again."

"What for this time? Did you pester her? Embarass her? Try on her clothes?"

"Well, this time, I don't really know. I would think she'd be happy...oh, Ed."

"You really think there's a chance she'll go home this time?"

"I never really gave it much thought until now, I'm not even sure she wants to go home, and if she does...Ed..."

"I'm not no Agony Aunt or nothing, so I'm not really the one to talk to about these things. But you're welcome to stay with me until she cools off."

"Thanks, Ed, you're the best!"

* * *

"Whiskers?"

Brandy stared out the front door that night, calling him, hoping to give him the appropriate apology.

"I'm sorry-" she had said to herself, but something within her had made her take it back. She still had that lingering suspicion that Whiskers, him and this entire jungle, were ther only to mock her, because she had been 'bad' and she actually deserved this. In fact, it was stronger than ever and that book still sat on her dressing table, smugly grinning to itself.

Bah.

Humbug.

"Brandy!"

Lola Boa, her usual optimistic self.

"Lola, um, what are you doing here?"

"Well, I'm just seeing if you're alright, because I heard earlier on you were in a bad mood, and I thought it had to do with-" Lola swallowed before continuing. "What if you really do go home? What about me? We're best friends!"

"Um, well, this is a fat generous man we're talking about! Maybe, um, he'll introduce you to my family! And...maybe..give you arms..."

"Brandy. Brandy. Oh, I, I just don't know what to say." She slithered right out of the window again, leaving Brandy with her thoughts.

"Get over this, Brandy." She splashed water from the basin right on her face, staring at herself right in the mirror. "Nobody's trying to mock you. Get over this, get over-"

Her reflection. She swore that it was, well, changing. The flesh slowly crawled from her face, the muscles gradually evaporated and her eyes melted away into thick juicy globules, leaving nothing more but a skull - a grinning skull.

Then it changed back to normal.

She just laughed.

However, she could not do the same when the entire room was bathed in an unearthly glow of red, which melted away to a dark shade of blue which gradually left and did not do the same when she heard the ear-shattering sound of non-existant bells in her house, and she didn't do the same when the sound of ringing bells was replaced by the rattling of chains and screams and moans.

There was a giant skeleton goldfish.

"I've been waiting to meet you, Brandy."

As the fish spoke those words, Brandy stared in awe at the creature. It was certanly impressve, being large for a goldfish, the pale eyes still locked in their sockets and the bandage that was wrapped around its head. However, the most noticeable aspect about this ghoul's appearance was that every one of his bones, his ribs, his spine, his fin bones and his tail bone, were adorned with chains, as if it were tinsel on a banister.

"Wh-who..."

"In life, I was a past pet of the great Harrington family. Goldie Harrington of the Florida Harringtons, I was."

The ghost immediately rattled hs chains and let out a fierce moan, which caused Brandy to collapse in fear.

"What do you want with me?"

"Much!"

"Oh, oh...you can't be real." Brandy laughed as she lifted herself off the floor. "You can't!"

"Why do you doubt your senses?"

Brandy laughed again, a cruel laugh at the ghost's expense. "You're not fooling me. I know what you're up to-"

The ghost screamed louder and rattled its chains in unbridled agony.

Brandy collapsed again.

"Please...leave me alone."

"Dog of the worldy mind, do you believe in me, or not?"

"I do, I do, leave me alone!"

"I wear the chain I forged in life. In that miserable time when I breathed I let them give me the finest imported fish foods, the sparkling castles made of diamond, the backgrounds painted by Renaissance artists. I was like you, appreciating the finer things in life, surrounded by friends nwho'd always want to hear what I'd been up to recently...but that aquarium they put me was actually a glass prison, where I made this chain, link by link and yard by yard." He turned to Brandy, actually snarling at her, despite his skeletal nature. "You're lucky, dog. You're a biped mammal with arms and legs. You could have done so much more than I could. I was in that little glass box, my eyes fixed on those humans and curs, never once raising to that blessed star which led the Wise Men to that poor abode." His chains took on a life of their own, like gigantic worms, they stretched and wrapped around Brandy as if she were a present to be wrapped. And then, she was engulfed by what looked like a giant spectral octopus, a blob made of the spirits of several animals, each one a living skeleton like Goldie.

"We are the spirits of pets that may never embrace human contact ever again, never again to be petted or fed or loved, due to our ways in the past." He raised his chains and yelled again, this time in a feeble attempot to break free of his curse. "WRETCHED CUR. You have been given a chance most of us never had. You have been sent to the Amazon and have been given a chance to ponder on your past actions! But _no_. You think nothing of what awaits you after death, you have never suffered the punishment I have had to endure for all these years!"

"Punishment? Being chased by carnivores and an evil gecko and getting constantly embarassed by some dumb rabbit isn't torture?"

"SHUT UP! Brandy, I have to tell you something; you can _never_ go home. You need a chance to experience real punishment, of the kind I and all these others have suffered, so maybe you have a chance of escaping my fate."

"What do you mean?"

"You will be haunted by three spirits. I feel the need to say no more."

Nothing.

How ridiculous. There's no such things as ghosts, there's no-one out to get you, no monsters under the bed, all child's play.

Brandy just laughed.

She didn't care. She didn't care that some spooky spirit popped out of nowhere and began telling her that she was going to die. She didn't care about a stupid rabbit. She didn't care about a silly book or annoying cripples. She didn't even care about going home or her family. All she cared about was getting a good night's sleep.

She actually slept like a baby.


	2. Stave 2: The First of the Three Spirits

**Stave 2:**

**The First of the Three Spirits**

"Brandy? Brandy, is that you?"

Brandy groggily awoke, languidly wiping away all the eye gunk. These voices were familiar to her, and yet they sounded so different. And her bed - it certainly wasn't a giant bra. It had cushions, a plush mattress and - wait, could it be?

Yes! Yes it could! Those voices, those familair voices, they were her family, they were all there! There was Dr. Nigel Harrington, her father, Martha Harrington, her mother, her dear mother, and all her brothers and sisters - she never really could remember their names. They all were standing before her, all smiling, welcoming her back, giving her big hugs, exactly how she imagined the re-union.

"Oh, Brandy, I thought we had lost you!"

"Come downstairs and open your presents!"

"This is the best Christmas ever!"

The dogs had so much to say to her that she didn't really catch all of what they were saying, but this only served to make her more ecstatic. In fact, she didn't really pay attention, too busy looking around her bedroom, letting her fond memories of this house flow back into her mind once more. She was back home, far way from Gaspar, all those panthers and jaguars and who-knows-what and Whiskers...

What would he think? Would he go back to the treehouse, find it empty and cry his eyes out? And Lola? And Cheryl? And Meryl? But surely they would understand? This was her family! Her loving family that had nurtured and taken care of her, and were standing here right now...

Wait, where did they go?

Where her happy family once stood, now Brandy found a small little girl. She couldn't have been any more than eight, she couldn't have been any taller than three foot five. She had short blonde hair and all she wore was a flower-patterned dress. She definately wasn't part of the human Harrington family, definately because of her eyes, nothing but black holes as if she were a doll.

"Welcome back home, Brandy."

Brandy backed away, clutching her duvet cover in her hands. "Who are you?"

The girl chuckled innocently. "I am the Ghost of Christmas Past."

"Ha."

"No. It's true." She stamped her foot on the floor. "I have to be the Ghost of Christmas Past, 'cause I've taken you back to re-experience your life before you met Mr Rabbit Man."

Brandy closed her eyes and tried to avoid the spirit's gaze. The ghsot didn't bring her here, Santa did, because she deserved to. This ghost wasn't real, neither was the one before it, just delusions of an over-excited mind. She was home, her family was glad to have her back, and that was all that mattered.

Sure enough, she opened her eyes and the ghost was gone.

She ran down the stairs to the silver Christmas tree, a hyperactive child once more, and rushed towards the neatly wrapped presents, sharing in the joy and the laughter. She opened her presents rapidly, rolling around in the wrapping as if it were snow. She got a new hairdryer. She got the latest in the Calvin Kryin' Winter Line. She got a diamond-studded collar. She got a new cell-phone. Mommy got some perfume. Daddy got a golf set.

It was a nice Christmas, a merry Christmas.

Yet, there was still an air of uncomfortableness for Brandy about it.

"Mom?"

"What is it, dear?"

She gulped. "Was I - was I -" She could tell Mommy was nervous. "Did we ever have a goldfish?"

"Um, I think so. Why do you ask?"

"No...reason..."

Martha rolled her eyes and just continued with the Christmas traditions. After the servants cleared away the remains of the wrapping paper, the company left away to the Harrington Private Theatre to view the annual Christmas production. This year they were doing an daptation of 'The Night Before Christmas'. The show was decent, but the actor playing St. Nick was definately the shining star.

They had the finest snow imported from the Alps, fresh, pure, white snow, bringing forth childhood amusement, snow-angels were made, snowmen were built, snowball wars were fought, and a good time was had by all.

And then came Christmas dinner, with the largest turkey one had ever seen, with all the classic dressings; cranberry sauce, Yorkshire puddings, roast potatoes, along with Christmas pudding, a cake shaped like a snowman, a huge fountain of root beer. The humans and the other dogs were certainly enjoying the meal, but Brandy had almost seemed to revert back to her animalistic ways again, wolfing down chicken legs and potatoes by the barrelload. She had surprised glances exchanged her way, but she ignored them.

There were a few games, crackers, blind man's bluff but the piece-de-resistance of the evening was truly the Harrington Christmas Ball. The ballroom was excessively decorated, wreaths hanging on the doors, gigantic Christmas trees framing the windows, tinsel wrapped around the chandlier, tinsel everywhere for that matter. An orchestra made their way into the heart of the ballroom, a festive smile lightening the conductor's wrinkled face. The entire orchestra had began a rousing rendition of 'We Wish You a Merry Christmas' as the guests arrived, prestigious guests from far and wide, come to dance the night away. Brandy joined the celebrations in her best red dress and her favourite pair of high-heels. Mother and Father bowed before each other, the latter offering his delicate paw to the former. The human Harringtons were also there, the mother and father also dancing, the youngest Harrington daughters looking bored out of their wits, the eldest of the Harringto children were looking for people to dance with. Brandy herself had actually found a partner, a rather handsome poodle named Harry. All they really did was dance, never really got to know each other. The ball started off as a slow waltz but soon escalated into a rapid-fire dance, with the music getting louder and quicker, and the dancers spinning around so much they all got rather dizzy.

Then the dance was over and it was time to go to bed.

As Brandy changed into a long pink nightgown, she was still laughing to herself about how wonderful the day had been, forgetting for a moment about Whiskers, the Amazon and even the ghosts that had paid her a visit. All that mattered was that she had returned home, she had been reunited with her laughing family, and she was once again experiencing the joys of a Harrington life.

"Did you have fun, Brandy?" The ghost had returned.

"I-" Brandy's laughter dried up as she tried to force the ghost out of her thoughts.

"You can't ignore _me_, Brandy," the child-ghost said in a musical tone, then added, "and you can't ignore _this_."

Brandy began shrinking, her age regressing. The Harrington mansion actually began to collapse as if it were made of flimsy cardboard. Brandy had become a little puppy again, sheltering in a cardboard box, away from the fierce downpour of the rain.

"Welcome home, Brandy!"

The ghost was still there, but her voice had begun to lose its innocent spark, and sounded...well, Brandy couldn't really describe it. Brandy opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a desperate yelp of help.

"This is where you belong, isn't it, you dirty little skank?" The ghost pointed to the hobos sleeping by garbage bins and bedsheets made of wet newspapers, the rotting garbage, the stained graffiti. "_This_ is where you belong; you weren't born into that miserable little family, you were adopted, and _this_ is where you were born. You weren't born to greatness; you were born to scratch fleas and drink out of the toilet!"

The ghost reached for her face. She ripped off the skin, if you could call it that, and pulled it off as if it were a cheap latex mask. Her real head was one attached to a thin snake-like neck that stretched into the air, the head itself two bulging eyes atop a disturbing grin. The eyes and the grin descended from the heavens to face Brandy the puppy.

"Look over there."

A female dog, a female dog _corpse,_ lying on the ground. Flies buzzed around the carcass making inaudible cheers, fresh blood dripping from the bullet holes.

"Face it, Brandy. Your mommy is **dead**. Your daddy is **dead**. _And there's nothing you can do about it_."

The ghost left. Brandy was still stuck in the past, and she had to face _him_. She thought he had blocked out any memories he was involved with, but everything about him, the harsh stubble, the yellow teeth, the cigar dangling from his lips, were all too familiar.

All too familiar.

She went to the Happy Springs Puppy Pound. It looked like a cheerful place with the pure white walls and the smiling helpers, but the fear of death wafted through the air casually, not even caring about the creatures it would affect. She had hoped that fear was gone forever, but it was back and stronger than ever, clutching her stomach so tightly she felt she would vomit. And then -

"The Harrngtons? I mean - what brings you here to our humble corner of the world?"

"Our goldfish just died and the kids are upset. We're looking for a puppy."


	3. Stave 3: The Second of the Three Spirits

**Stave 3:**

**The Second of the Three Spirits**

Brandy awoke again, this time in the Amazon, this time in the giant bra - thank God.

"Hey, Brandy!"

Brandy let out another horrified scream but calmed down when she saw it was merely Lola Boa.

"Brandy, what's wrong?"

"Lola, why are you here? It's past midnight."

"I was just checking...I'm sorry...I..."

Lola was suddenly snatched away at that moment, right out of Brandy's gaze. The culprit seemed to be a goblin of some kind, a yellowish-green little munchkin sporting a cute pointed hat and curly shoes. It had the classic pointed ears and cheeky grin that Brandy had seen in pictures, as well as a small tail poking out its behind. The little monster put its finger by its nose, causing a door to appear out of thin air; a portal for it to escape through. Brandy followed it, half for Lola's sake, half due to curiousity.

There was a long wooden tunnel that went on for quite a while, before coming to another door, wich Brandy was quite unsure whether or not to open.

From the other end she heard a boisterous, hoarse laugh. "Come in, and know me better, dog!"

Brandy opened the door, though she did ask herself why, and was greeted to the sight of a somewhat classic Christmas scene. There were several more of the goblins - or were they elves - at desks building nutcrackers, stuffing teddy bears, some even barefoot in giant buckets of grapes making wine. Of course, there were also reindeer, but Brandy was pretty sure some were just made out of paper mache. There were Christmas trees, and there were wreaths, but they were obviously some first-grader's arts and crafts project, or by someone even less experienced than that.

And there was singing.

_'Falling down to Hell, you're gonna die you bitch,  
You will be roasted, like a Salem witch,  
Don't think we will be nice, don't think we will be bright,  
All we are concerned about is giving you a fright!_

_Oh, little dog, little dog,  
We're gonna make you pay,  
And there is no better time,  
Than on this holiday!_

_Oh, Brandy H, Brandy H,  
Our master you will meet,  
He's one for conversation,  
It's gonna be a treat!'_

The centerpiece of this Christmas pageant was possibly the most hideous creature Brandy had ever laid eyes upon. Its skin was the same yellowish-green its goblins were, but even more so, as if it was made out of vomit. It was so obese that when it sat upon its golden throne, its legs were no-where to be seen, and she could even see what looked like thick mucous escaping from its rolls. Its eyes almost looked like they were trying to escape from their sockets, its teeth looked like tombstones and a nose and ears were strangely absent. It even wore a bargain basement Santa costume, the coat twelve sizes too short, the fake beard partly obscured by one of its chins and the obligatory dangly hat.

"Come in, and know me better, dog!" it repeated, wobbling like a child's toy, allowing more mucous to splatter over the floor. Brandy almost gagged at how disgusting the creature was.

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Present!"

"Shut up," said Brandy, attempting to ignore the creature's identity, "where's Lola?"

The ghost laughed again. "Look, boys, it's who I was talking about earlier! Anyway, why do you worry about that stupid snake? I'm much better looking than her, I am."

"Well, um, she's my friend..."

"But what about what that last ghost showed you? Don't you want to go home?"

Brandy paused for a while. "No."

"You liar! Don't deny your desires! This is Christmas! The singing of the street corner choir! Going home and getting warm by the fire!"

"I don't...I don't care. I want Lola..."

"I can send you back home! I can even 'de-mutt' you if you like! Royal Harrington blood will soon pump through your veins and you will be the most prestigious dog there ever was. And best of all, you'll forget all about that crappy little jungle place forever! You'll never have to worry about Mr Whiskers again!

"Or if you want to save your snake friend so badly, you can go through that door on your right, and never recieve the prize I promised you."

Brandy had told herself not to follow this ghost, as he would more than likely do the sme as the Ghost of the Past. Yet, at this moment, she wanted to forget Whiskers, either that or she wanted to want to forget Whiskers. And to be a pure-bred...

_'Wake me up when I'm a Harrington again...'_

_'Oh, well I wouldn't know, as I was born into the finest lizard families...'_

_'Brandy want walkies?' _

Either she was remembering those moments of her own free will or the ghost was transmitting them into her mind, either way, they still seemed to carry a sting with them. But Whiskers said...forget what Whiskers said, he was just forcing you to pretend your whole life.

Brandy Harrington of the Florida Harringtons.

Brandy Harrington of the Florida Harringtons.

Brandy Harrington of the Florida Harringtons.

"No! I want to save Lola!"

The ghost chuckled again. "Suit yourself, mutt." The ghost grabbed Brandy with his arm - thin, tiny thing it was - and threw her through a door.

"Brandy! Brandy!"

Lola was held onto a table by another goblin-elf.

"Lola! I'll save you!"

"I don't need saving, Brandy!" said Lola, "The ghost isn't really all that bad, look!"

She had been given arms. Arms that, though sewn onto her body in a Frankenstein-esque manner, looked delicate and human, though purple and scaly.

But soon Lola had disappeared and in her place was Mr Whiskers. Mr Whiskers was in a giant aquarium tank and his flesh was being torn off by piranhas, each of the fish happily munching on the rodent.

"Whiskers!"

The piranhas actually spat out Whiskers' remains in Brandy's face, allowing her to feel the cold, wet entrails drip down her cheeks.

"What the hell?"

"Don't you want Whiskers dead? He's nothing but a miserable little rabbit and all he's ever done is make you miserable. Didn't you want him to get rid of his annoying head and replace it with a smarter one? Didn't he constantly annoy you and embarass you? Wouldn't you, wouldn't the world be better off without him?"

"I don't want him dead!"

"If he should die, he had better hurry up and do it, and therefore decrease the surplus population."

Brandy gave herself a chance to laugh. "You're still not fooling me, you...whatever you are. Whatever you're doing isn't going to work. I've read that crappy little book you spawned from, I know all your tricks."

The ghost whacked Brandy to the ground, pointing to the rabbit entrails beneath him. "It may be, that in the sight of Heaven, you are more _worthless_ and _less fit to live_ than **millions** like this poor, defenseless rabbit. Oh, to hear the Insect on the leaf pronouncing on the too much life among his hungry brothers in the dust."

The guts and gore melted away into the darkness, replaced by two human children, who looked skeletal in form, but actually did have thin, horrible flesh covering their bones. They were almost naked, with nothing but flimsy rags to keep them warm. Their faces resembled those of rodents, rodents that lusted to bite the flesh from Brandy's face.

"Don't you recognise these children? The boy is Ignorance and the girl is Want. They have fed from you for years."

* * *

Then she found herself slap bang in the middle of another alleyway, the smell of ripe garbage gliding through the air into her nose. She was clothed, but still wearing her pyjamas. The alleyway was mostly empty, except for that man over there.

The man smirked. "Well, well, what have we here?"

He grabbed Brandy by the throat. "I don't want any of you dogs on my turf, ya hear?"

He grabbed his gun and shot.


	4. Stave 4: The Last of the Three Spirits

**Stave 4:**

**The Last of the Three Spirits**

Brandy got the opportunity to see her own carcass, lying on the ground, with fresh blood leaking from her body.

"Am I-am I-"

A hooded figure crept out of the shadows, its hand pointing at the corpse, then back at Brandy.

"Are you-are you the Ghost of Christmas...future, was it?"

The spirit didn't move, but still had its finger pointed at Brandy's direction.

"What are you going to do? Are you going to torture me further? Are you going to criticise me? Are you going to try and change me? Is that it?"

The spectre slowly moved its finger from Brandy and pointed elsewhere. The man, whoever he was, lifted Brandy's carcass in his arms, and dragged it off.

"Here, take a look, look at what I caught!"

The man's meeting place had the unmistakable aroma of alcohol and cigarette smoke wafting around, as well as the usual damp walls and floor one would expect from these sort of places. Brandy and the Ghost were there, and the Ghost's finger had focussed on a conversation between 'old friends'.

"Good work, Sid, good work!" said a fat man puffing proudly on a cigarette.

"May I do the honours?" said a taller man, emerging from another room.

"Yes, yes do."

The tall man grabbed a cleaver from a nearby table, and licked it with glee. With a single WHACK, Brandy's corpse was decapitated, her head rolling to the floor like a dropped football. Sid took the head off the floor and nailed it onto a thick block of wood. He hung it on the gresy wall as a hunting trophy, chuckling triumphantly as he did so.

Brandy hid behind the Ghost's cloak as if it were a bedsheet.

The Ghost ponted away from the ugly crowd and took Bradny back to her home. She once again experienced it all, presents, play snow, dinner and ball, but without her included. Nobody mentioned her, nobody acknowledged her, it was as if she had never set foot in that house.

**THEN EVERYONE DIED.**

Brandy saw security guards absent, security systems destroyed and her entire family, human and canine, dead, bloodied and liitering the entire ballroom. And there they were, Sid, the fat man and the tall man, looting the entire house, smokin pistols in their hands. Brandy could even hear them merrily singing a little ditty to themselves, as they stole from the Harrington mansion;

_'We're despicable,  
We make ourselves so sickable,  
We rate ourselves, hate ourselves viciously,  
Still none of us wishes he would change...'_

"You..." Brandy snarled at the ghost, biting her lip to stop herself from crying. "You did this! It's because of you my...you killed my family..."

_'We're not tea-party blokes,  
No chitty-chat, or artichokes,  
We're twice as bloodthirsty as cannibules,  
And wider than animules are we,  
We're reprehensible, we'll steal your pen and pencible...'_

The Ghost pointed at the murderers, then back at Brandy.

"I didn't do it! It was entirely your fault! You got rid of the security and let these..." She collapsed in front of the Ghost. "Don't show me this..."

Back in the alleyway. Three hobos, gathered around a fire.

"Hey, look at this! Some fancy-pants rich family were all killed last night. Every single one of 'em."

Boisterous laughter.

The Turlington Manor.

"I say, look at this. 'Entire Harrington Family Murdered'."

"You know, I once met one of them...Mandy, was it? Anyway, she was _such_ a poser, I didn't believe what she said for a second..."

The Amazon.

Dear, sweet Amazon...

Whiskers.

He had come back home because he couldn't sleep. He wanted the warmth of his swimsuit bed. He wanted Brandy.

"Brandy? Brandy?"

No Brandy. No bestest best friend waiting for him.

That little bitch.

She's probably back home right now, sipping champagne and laughing at his expense. She _lied_ to him. She said she would come for him, take him back with her. Liar.

He tore up all those affectionate drawings. The book he wrote showing how much he loved her. They meant nothing to him now, artificial trinkets that he had deluded himself with.

Santa came in. He said he was soory. Liar liar pants on fire. He said Brandy was dead? Ha. He took her away and let her live the good life at the expense of his suffering. Santa offered candy canes. Go away. Santa left. Whiskers was alone.

Brandy Harrington meant nothing to him now.

Bah. Humbug.

"You...why are you doing this? Why? Tell me!"

The Ghost didn't answer.

"Answer me when I'm talking to you! Are you trying to get me to change? Is that it? Or is this just some meaningless random torture you're putting me through? Is it?"

The Amazon began to crack like an egg, millions of ghosts escaping from the fissures.

"Tell me!"

The spirits, the skeletal animal spirits, began tearing off Brandy's flesh, her muscles, her organs and eyeballs, and adorned her with chains - heavy, rusty iron chains that felt like several nails piercing her body.

_**"TELL ME!"**_

Goldie.

"I've changed my mind, Brandy. I want you to join us, to share our fate, _forever_. You will ride on the wings of the wind, never again to experience comfort and friendship, hearing mocking and slander in your ear for all eternity."

Brandy was completely skeletal, naked and floating in the air with chains wrapped around her like tinsel on a Christmas tree. The Ghosts of Christmas Past and Present stood there laughing their heads off.

"Your death will mean nothing, Brandy, you are merely a common mutt!"

"_Deck her ribs with rusty chains, fa la la la la la la la la la!  
We want her to feel extreme pain, fa la la la la la la la la la!"_

No, no. This isn't how it should be, it isn't at all. Brandy had felt her past actions were wrong and she had done bad, but even she thought she didn't deserve punishment _this_ extreme. And this was meant to be the season to be jolly! If she wasn't allowed to go home this Christmas, could she at least have dinner with her jungle friends and spend Christmas with them? She had imagined the end of her Amazon adventures being about her going back to Florida and taking Mr Whiskers with her, not being tortured and mocked by ghosts!

And yet, there was a strange sense that...she _deserved_ it.


	5. Stave 5: The End of It

**Stave 5:**

**The End of It**

Brandy awoke in bed, once again.

Flesh.

Organs.

Muscles.

Her old self.

Oh. Are they giving her another chance at life? Should she be a good little girl that always does as she's told?

She had been through hell and back. She had been tormented in ways she found unimaginable. They expected her to change because of that?

Changing would be letting them win. Changing would mean that she had taken their little joke too seriously. They didn't care about her or her future; she was just a toy to them, a game.

Santa came. He left a lump of coal.

She didn't complain though.

She just lay there.

She lay awake.

All night.

* * *

Until morning.

"Brandy?"

Whiskers.

"Oh, you're still here. I guess...well, there's always..."

It was all his fault. All his damn fault. He was the conduit, the thing that was making these things attack her and even affect her. Damn him...

Brandy burst into tears.

"Brandy, Brandy, I'm sorry..."

"Why not Gaspar...pick on Gaspar...just leave me alone...I don't deserve this..."

"Oh, come on, Brandy, you've got me, haven't you?"

Brandy wept tears. Angry tears. Tears of annoyance. Tears of hatred and contempt.

"Why? _Why_?"

Whiskers rolled his eyes. "Um...okay...well, I...I got you another present, since you didn't like the last one..."

He held in his hand a little box. Earrings. Little golden earrings shaped like happy little crocodiles.

"Just in case, y'know."

This wasn't a ghost. This wasn't some malicious spirit from Hell who shows freaky weird visions for the sake of showing freaky weird visions. Ths was Whiskers. Whiskers never laughs at you or mocks you or forces you into the torture he endures. He is a big, fluffy bunny that just wants to be a friend, or a little brother.

She hugged him tightly, wanting to feel his fuzzy fur against hers.

"Oh, Whiskers, oh, Whiskers..."

Then, all of a sudden, a marching band entered the treehouse, playing their instruments loudly and a man in a business suit appeared with a golden award.

"What?"

"Congratulations, Brandy and Mr Whiskers, you have won the award for 'Sappiest Finale in a Christmas-themed Fanfiction!"

"Oh goody," said Mr Whiskers, as he grabbed the award, "I'd like to thank the little people, of course..."

Brandy sighed. "Can we just end this already?"

**THE END**


End file.
